


A Nostalgic Holiday

by DinerGuy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Family, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Holidays, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 16:21:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1058974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DinerGuy/pseuds/DinerGuy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson's Thanskgiving is a little different than he'd planned. But different isn't always bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Nostalgic Holiday

**Author's Note:**

> Written by request for my best friend, Kkarrie. Not exactly what she wanted, but this is the route my muse took, so... here it is. :)
> 
> Disclaimer: No characters in here belong to me. All are property of Marvel, etc. Just having a bit of fun with them. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.

He awoke to a house full of delicious scents. The five year old sat up in bed, smiling in excitement as he took a deep breath. This was what Thanksgiving meant in his mind; delicious foods and their amazing smells throughout the day.

The faint aroma of roasting turkey mixed with melting sugar and coffee caressed his sense of smell as he climbed out of bed. His mom had ironed his clothes and laid them out on a chair the night before with the strict instructions that they were to stay in that condition until their company came over. This was much easier said than done for any young boy, but he looked at it as a mission of national importance. If his mother said not to get dirty or wrinkled, then he would stay clean and pressed, and that would be the end of it.

After a quick trip to the bathroom, he wriggled into his pants and buttoned his shirt, then tied his shoes and trotted downstairs. His mother was in the kitchen, her hair up in a slightly messy bun and an apron tied around her blue dress.

"Hi, honey," she looked up from the steaming pot she was stirring. "Did you wash your face?"

"Yep," he nodded. He held up the tie in his hands. "But I can't tie this."

She smiled and put down her spoon. "Come over here," she beckoned, wiping her hands on her apron. When he obeyed, she leaned down and put the tie around his neck, working the knot until it sat perfectly. "You think you can stay neat until dinner is ready?"

"Yes!" he nodded enthusiastically.

"Okay, then." She tweaked his nose and then turned back to her pot. "Do you want some breakfast?"

"Yes!" He climbed up on the stool at the counter as his mother scooped oatmeal from a smaller pot that was sitting on the corner burner. As he ate, he watched his mother cooking, taking in the variety of delicious smells that were increasing more and more as the morning progressed.

There was the continual, juicy aroma of turkey wafting from the oven behind where he was sitting. It made his mouth water with images of drumsticks, the meat tender and the skin slightly crispy and glistening with grease. Then the two pumpkin pies that had been set off to the side caught his eye as well, and visions of a thick slice slathered with whipped cream popped into his mind, taking its place right beside the turkey legs.

As he sat on his stool, eating his oatmeal and dreaming of Thanksgiving dinner, the room spun around him slightly. He blinked, and suddenly he was sitting at the kitchen table, his cousins occupying the other chairs. There was chatter and laughter echoing throughout the kitchen, along with the sounds of everyone thoroughly enjoying the mix of foods on their plates. The voices coming through the doorway to the dining room, accompanied by the clanking of dishes and glasses, conveyed that the adults were also enjoying their dinner at the big table.

He blinked slowly, not completely sure of what was going on. Finally, not getting any answers, he started in on his own plate, scooping sweet potato casserole onto his fork, he heard a phone ringing the other room.

At first he thought it was the house phone, but then the ringing continued, and he observed that it was a different ringer than their house phone. His first thought was that it was his cell phone, but then his brow furrowed as he realized that there was no such thing as a cell phone.

It continued to ring and was suddenly coming from somewhere above him. None of the other children at the table seemed to hear it, however. Even when he twisted around in his chair to locate the source of the ringing, no one paid any attention to him. As soon as he noticed that, he also noticed that no one had paid any attention to him the entire time they had been sitting at the dinner table. Their conversation had all been directed at each other.

Just as he realized that, things suddenly faded out and he sat up with a start.

He was at his desk at S.H.I.E.L.D. in the present day and was no longer five years old again. His neck muscles complained as he straightened up from where his chin had been lying on his chest; he winced and massaged the back of his neck with his hand as he looked around.

His cell phone was on the desk in front of him, lying on top of a stack of files. He reached for it, answering just as it was about to go to voicemail. Although he didn't have a chance to glance at the caller ID before answering, he was not completely worried. After all, the only people with his cell number were those who he—and S.H.I.E.L.D.—wanted to have it.

"Hello?" He cleared his throat.

"Sorry, did I wake you, Agent Coulson?" the voice came through the phone.

"What..." Coulson trailed off as he removed the phone from his ear to look at the screen. "Stark, how do you have this number?"

Stark laughed. "I have everyone's phone numbers," he replied. Coulson could imagine him shrugging nonchalantly "Well, everyone's except Cap's, but only because he doesn't actually have one."

"And why are you calling me?" Coulson asked, absently rubbing his chin, feeling the indentations from where it had been resting against his tie.

Some rustling and metallic clanging could be heard on the other end of the line. Coulson heard a muffled woman's voice in the background. "Tony, get your hand out of that!"

"Oh, well," Stark didn't sound fazed by whatever was going on at his end, "Pepper made me call you. She wants you to come over this afternoon."

There was more talking on Stark's end, but Coulson couldn't hear the exact words of the other party. He could hear Stark's voice, although muffled as if the man was holding the phone to his shoulder. "Yes, I know you told me to do it the other-Well, I'm calling him now!"

"Anyway, can you come? I'll send a car for you."

Coulson hesitated; if he was going to be honest, he had no plans, and his dream had made him nostalgic. Before he could spend any longer debating with himself, Stark apparently took the agent's silence for agreement.

"Great! The others are all coming too. I'll have the car at your office at three. Don't worry about bringing anything; we have more than enough here. Oh!" he added, "but if you want to bring a guest, please do so. Maybe that... who was it?"

"If she's in town, please bring that lovely cello player with you!" Pepper's voice came through the line. It sounded as if she had leaned in to grab the phone from Tony. "We're looking forward to seeing you!"

"See you, Agent. Three pm!" Stark said before hanging up.

Setting the phone back down on his desk, Coulson sat back in his chair for a moment. He had expected to spend the day alone, maybe catching up on some paperwork or having a quiet dinner alone by himself. But he couldn't back out now that he had accidentally accepted Stark's invitation to dinner. Checking his watch, he saw he had about an hour before the car Stark had promised would arrive. Just enough time to pick up some wine.


End file.
